


It's Raining, It's Pouring

by Quoth_the_Raven_Nevermore_Nevermore



Series: Five Things Steve Learned [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Issues, Hurt Tony Stark, Post-Iron Man 3, Protective Steve Rogers, Sick Tony, Sick Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:03:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4512450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quoth_the_Raven_Nevermore_Nevermore/pseuds/Quoth_the_Raven_Nevermore_Nevermore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been raining for a week straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Raining, It's Pouring

 It’d been raining for a week.

It never stopped. They’d had to, at one point, help the NYPD sandbag the shores of the Hudson because flooding had become a major concern. The whole of the city was wet, gray, and miserable.

Steve in particular didn’t like being trapped in the tower, there was only so much he could do to burn off energy inside. All that excess energy kept him from sleep and was making him – something Tony thought he would ever use in relation to Steve – incredibly grouchy.

So, it was to no one’s surprise that Steve finally snapped at Tony to put down his tablet and actually pay attention in the weekly meeting.

Tony using his Starkpad during meetings had long been an issue. Tony argued that he was head of a R&D department that supplied millions of people with jobs. He argued that as the owner of a multibillion dollar company that supplied the Avengers with gear and funds he couldn’t not work. That he had a full time job on top of the Avengers. Was the only one that did in fact, CEO or not, he had work that needed to get done.

He also loved to add that he was great at multitasking, but the Avengers had seen him poor coffee onto the toaster one morning because he was distracted by something Bruce had said – so they didn’t believe him on that front.

Steve argued that if you weren’t there a hundred percent then you weren’t there at all, and meetings were mandatory, unless you were dead or out of the country on some top secret mission – I.E Natasha or Clint – of course, then you were excused.

Bruce just wished Steve would shut up because he really didn’t need the headache he could feel building from the yelling.

Tony just plain wished Steve would shut up.

None of this was the surprising part, they’d had this fight a million different times in a million different places. No, the surprising part was that Tony just sat there and took it, didn’t snark back, didn’t argue his case, he just sat there before quietly standing and leaving the room.

Steve stopped mid rant and stared after the retreating figure, a confused frown settling between his blonde eyebrows.

It was the first sign that something was wrong.

* * *

Tony didn’t emerge until early the next morning when Steve was eating eggs with bacon and reading the paper.

Steve didn’t notice him at first, used to the loud and grumbly Tony in the morning, not the quiet one that crept through the kitchen in multicolored socks.

“Tony,” he greeted, taking in the wan features of the other man with a frown. Noting the unkempt, greasy, hair that hung over Tony’s forehead, and the thick sweatshirt that seemed to swallow him up. He looked – well, he looked sick.

Tony pulled a mug from the cupboard and shuffled carefully over to the coffee pot before he seemed to even realize that Steve had spoken. He looked up fast and winced, his face pinching before relaxing into a very forced smile.

“Cap’in, my Cap’in, how’s it going?”

Steve ignored him.

“You’re sick.” Tony shakes his head. “No, not sick.”  

Steve sighed and stood, gently taking the mug from Tony’s shaking hands, up close Steve could see the sweat beading on Tony’s forehead, see the waxen skin that seemed to stretch over bones a bit too tightly, the dark circles and sunken eyes.

Steve raised a hand and – before Tony could dodge – put it to his forehead, surprised to find it cool to the touch, Tony shook his hand away and grabbed the mug from Steve’s other hand, setting it on the counter he poured a generous amount into the mug, only missing a few times, the spill pooling around the mug in a toffee colored stain.

Steve sighed, eyeing the way Tony’s hands shook, and grabbed the skim milk from the fridge, pouring it into Tony’s cup until the dark liquid was chocolate colored, then added one scoop of sugar – just the way Tony liked it – before relinquishing the cup to Tony who took a deep sip, a small sigh escaping his slightly parted lips.

Chapped lips, that was. Dehydration, then. Why wasn’t he drinking water?

Steve sighed, “Where have you been holed up since yesterday?”

Tony gave him a wry look, “the lab.”

That was a lie. Steve had been in the lab looking for Tony yesterday when he hadn’t shown up for dinner, the bots had been on their charging stations and the lights off, and there had been no one there.

“Tony, maybe you should go back to bed. You don’t look well.”

“And there you go assuming things again, Cap, I have work to do, this,” he said holding up his mug of coffee. “Is coming with me and you can do nothing about it. Feel that, you’re out of control. Deal with it.”

So it was going to be like that then.

Tony was being purposefully cruel in the hopes that Steve would leave him alone. Steve was not going to let Tony’s – well, rather poor – attempts at provoking him get to him. Steve knew Tony better than that.

Quite obviously he was hiding something. Not a fever, from what Steve could tell, but there was something wrong with Tony. Especially if he was going to the trouble of trying to get Steve angry. Steve sighed, and followed Tony as he made his way out of the kitchen and down a familiar flight of stairs after completely ignoring Steve’s questions.

Tony kept throwing him nervous looks over his shoulder but didn’t say anything, and after keying in his code he didn’t lock Steve out, so Steve counted that as a plus.

“JARVIS,” Tony said, “lights at 80% output.”

“Sir, may I say – “ Tony cut the AI off, “No, now pull up the blueprints I was working on yesterday.”

“Yes, Sir,” There was a definite sigh in JARVIS’s voice, something that Steve had previously thought would be impossible for a computer program. JARVIS – well he was much more than a computer program, Steve had learned that early on, still, the AI managed to surprise him with how humanlike he was.

Steve settled down on the couch, grabbing a book that he’d left there a week ago, and flipped to where he’d left off.

The time passed rather quickly, Steve immersed in his book and Tony fiddling with some project before switching to another one. Steve figured Tony would admit to being sick soon enough and then he – well the team, too – could take care of him. Tony’s complaining that they were mother-henning him, be damned.

Steve, however, was so immersed in the tale that was unfolding in front of his eyes that he didn’t notice that Tony was missing until he heard the coughing that quickly morphed into retching.

Steve sighed, placing the book on the couch and stood, hesitating, he doubted Tony wanted him anywhere near him, but Steve couldn’t just leave him either. More importantly he didn’t want to. Something about Tony suffering alone seemed just wrong to Steve, in a fundamental way.

The half sob that followed made his mind up for him. Steve crossed the workshop in quick long strides, knocking once before opening the door to the small bathroom off the lab.

Tony was crouched in front of the toilet on his haunches, with tears on his cheeks, and his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“ _Tony_ ,” he said, crouching down behind him, wincing at how tight a fit it was.

 

The bathroom was meant for one person, one relatively small person, and it showed. The few times he’d used it while down in the lab had resulted in things being knocked off counters and Tony telling him that if he had to go then to go upstairs.

Tony raised a hand to clutch at his chest and leaned forward, gagging and bringing up stringy yellow bile, Steve gently tried rubbing at his back but Tony flinched away and hunched farther over the bowl, his harsh retching echoing off the walls.

Finally Tony seemed to finish, with a weak bat of the hand he flushed away the mess and collapsed backwards, landing awkwardly against Steve’s chest.

Tony groaned and Steve shushed him before reaching up and grabbing the cloth hanging off the side of the sink. He winced as Tony’s red and gold mechanical toothbrush took a nose dive towards the floor, landing with a soft clank on the tile.

He’d get it later.

He used the cloth to wipe at Tony’s cheeks and mouth – in that order – ignoring Tony’s feeble attempts to bat him away.

The only sounds where Steve’s gentle shushing and Tony’s harsh breathing. They sat like that for a while until finally Steve couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

“You finally ready to admit you’re sick?”

Tony shook his head, wincing. “Not. Sick,” he ground out between his teeth.

Steve snorted, “Really? I – Tony!”

Tony sat up fast, hanging over the toilet, coughing weakly and going horrendously pale before he gagged once bringing nothing up. He winced and brought his hand up to fist at his sweatshirt.

He gagged again this time, bringing up white strings of – something, before finally settling back into Steve as the blonde used a clean corner of the clothe to mop at his forehead.

“Oh, Tony,” he says stroking Tony’s dark hair away from his face.

“Please, none of us will think less of you if you’re sick –“

“’M'not. It’s the pain.”

That sent Steve onto red alert.

“Tony? Tony, what pain, what hurts?”

Tony ignored him, instead slowly he pushed himself off of Steve and then to his feet. Swaying for one terrifying moment before regaining his footing.

 Tony hobbled his way out of the bathroom and sat at his work bench, grabbing his still full cup of coffee gratefully and swished the liquid around in his mouth until he could taste something other than bile before spitting it back into the mug, reminding himself to dump it later.

Steve, at a loss, just watched him, before shaking his head.

Tony wasn’t staying down here.

“JARVIS,” he said. “Lights off, save whatever Tony was working on.”

"Yes, Captain.”

“Hey,” Tony said as the lights began to dim. “Traitor. Lights at 80% output.”

“Sir, I don’t think – “

“Tony, why don’t we go up to the kitchen, I imagine that there is still some coffee left. You’re not drinking that.”

Tony gave Steve a look, his face pinched and his lips turned down in a frown, before nodding, seemingly deeming coffee a worthy distraction from fighting with his AI and Steve himself.

“Jarvis, keep file Omega-Stark/Mark-VII-Improvement open for me.”

There was an audible sigh in JARVIS’s voice when he replied, “yes, Sir.”

There were six flights of stairs that reached between the communal kitchen and Tony’s lab, and Steve had seen Tony run up these same flights of stairs, but today he was lagging, Steve could hear the rain pounding, it was almost as loud as Tony’s harsh breathing.

Finally Steve couldn’t watch this anymore, gently he pushed down on Tony’s shoulders and the man went down easily slumping on the steps, his head in his hands, practically gasping for breath. Steve didn’t know what to do.

“Tony – what?” Tony only shook his head, gripping at the sweatshirt he still wore with a white knuckled grip. Steve remembers Tony joking about having a heart condition. They’d laughed at him as Clint propelled all the way down from the ceiling. It wasn’t a joke now.

“Tony? What’s going on – Tony, you’re scaring me!”

“’ _M'fine_ , Cap. Not as – mhhh – bad as you think it is.”

“I swear to _god_ , Tony – “

“Heh,” Tony huffed. “Now I’ve got you swearing. Didn’t think it was possible – mhhhh – captain pious.”

The pained grunts that seemed to break up Tony’s weak attempts at joking weren’t as reassuring as Tony seemed to think they were.

“Tony, what is going on? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Tony gave him an incredulous look, “what? No! It’s just the rain.”

Steve frowned, settling down next to Tony on the steps. That – that made a lot of sense. Men with metal in them – they could feel the weather changing, it hurt more when it was cold.

Steve would be the first to admit that he didn’t quite understand everything that having the arc reactor removed meant for Tony, physically or psychologically. He did however understand that what had been done had been highly experimental, highly dangerous. That Tony had had to step foot on foreign soil because no US doctor would touch his case. That when it was removed the – the gaping hole in Tony’s chest had to be filled with something. Metal, a metal of Tony’s own making had filled it, skin grafted over top.

It wasn’t perfect, Steve had thought, but it was better than shrapnel inching towards Tony’s heart. He’d been wrong of course, at least the reactor hadn’t hurt Tony.

There was the reason that Tony popped Tylenol like candy these days.

“Oh, _Tony_ ,” he says.

“Ah, you get it."

“How bad is it?“

Tony just gives him a look. Tony – Steve knew he had a pretty high tolerance for pain. To reduce him to being sick –it must be unbearable.

“You should be in bed, what have you been doing for the last week, Jesus Tony!”

Tony chuckles, “because I can just tell the rest of the team, and the city to fuck off because the rain bothers the mass of metal in my chest. Let alone tell the stuck up asses on my board the reason I missed our meeting. They’d eat me alive.”

“Have you even slept?”

"Catnaps," Tony says, sighing. "Here and there.”

Steve sighs, “come on, we can’t stay here.”

When Tony doesn’t move, Steve picked him up, grabbing under Tony’s knee’s and behind his shoulders and caries him up the stairs, Tony demanding to be let down all the while, Steve didn’t let him down, however, until he’d placed him down next to a very surprised Natasha on the couch in the communal living area.

“ _Stay_ ,” he says, and then, “what do you need?”

Tony glares up at him, “the rain to stop? Oh wait, none of us actually can stop the weather.”

Steve ignores him instead he busies himself with heating up a hot water bottle and gathering all the blankets he could find. Heat – heat he imagined would help. Reason number one for Tony’s sweats probably. He dumped the blankets on top of Tony who squawked at him before he made his way back to the kitchen, grabbing a few water bottles from the fridge and toasting a few pieces of toast while he waited for the hot water bottle to finish heating up.

God knows when he last drank anything besides coffee let alone ate anything – or kept anything down, for that matter.

Finally he grabbed the hot water bottle from the microwave and made his way back to the living room where he could hear Natasha talking to Tony in soft undertones.

He handed the hot water bottle to Tony first who took it gratefully, his hands disappearing underneath the blankets once more.

Once he was seated next to the other man on the couch, he handed him a water bottle and the plate with the toast, Tony reluctantly nibbled at it when he saw that – yes, Steve was actually serious about him eating that.

Tony ate about a half a slice before deeming himself done and Steve decided not to push him, instead he got him to drink about a quarter of the bottle of water in slow sips and then he changed the channel on the TV to some mindless movie and settled in.

Natasha watches this with a raised eyebrow before she snuggled down under the blankets, sidling up next to Tony, who seemed to lean into her touch.

 Hours later, after Bruce had convinced Tony to take a pill for the pain and Tony had managed another piece of toast and the rest of the bottle of water, Tony was curled up against Steve, fast asleep and gloriously pain free.

Steve smiled slightly, brushing Tony’s hair away from his face and resisted the urge to kiss him on the forehead.

It was then that he realized he’d fallen, and fallen hard.

_Crap_.


End file.
